


Like Fire Underwater

by thisrhiannon



Category: Berserk
Genre: Crossdressing, Don't be fooled it's not artsy it's just about Griffith in a dress guys, Dresses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-28 23:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10841694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisrhiannon/pseuds/thisrhiannon
Summary: As he stared towards his fearless leader, noticing the fluttering eyelashes that laid across his cheeks, the almost dainty way he rested his fingers on his mouth when he was in thought, Gutz had an idea. And maybe it wasn't a good idea, and it was almost certainly not one he should have brought up, but it slipped from his mouth anyway."She's not the only one that could do it."





	Like Fire Underwater

**Author's Note:**

> Ft. "Fire Underwater" by the incredible Girl Blue; please check her out here:
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=nbxjybY0AYs

[Yes, I remember how I met you, but we will not talk about it;  
Reminiscing’s what we left behind  
to get where we are now.]

Gutz first saw Griffith from the wrong end up a sword. He'd seen him from the ground with his blood soaking the grass beneath him, watched through hooded eyes as Griffith took off his helmet, as his hair had floated down around his face and glinted in the sunlight, had seen his eyes, his eyes, long lashes curled across his cheeks and catching the light of the sun, had seen the porcelain texture of his skin, had realized that this, this ethereal, this celestial being had cut him down -- and Gutz, barely conscious, had realized he was in far more trouble than he'd thought imaginable.

Since then, Gutz thought he'd gotten a grip. He was strong, he was sane, he knew what he was doing; Griffith had no more sway over him than was expected. Griffith was nothing special at all.

Gutz was wrong. Gutz was very wrong.

***

[Yes, sometimes it feels like we are still those young and stunning strangers.  
You threw a shadow in my spotlight;  
I heard a song called danger.]

There was nothing remarkable about the morning. It was mid or maybe late spring, and the sun was high and bright, and the dew was melting away from the grass. There was a mist that made the day seem to glisten. Griffith loved such things, and got up early and went to sleep late just to be a part of the passage of time, but Gutz was, and always had been, unmoved by the wonders of the natural world.

The Band of the Hawk had made camp in a wide valley, more a plain than anything, with mountains far, far off in the distance like an ashen smudge on an artist's scroll. Gutz was awake and wandering, restless, thinking of how he would procure some heavy objects to add weight to his sword for his morning exercise. Normally, small logs or stones would do, but this campsite boasted nothing of the sort. He hadn't seen a tree in miles. Gutz had paused and was twisting his lips slightly in frustration when he noticed voices, soft yet agitated, from the tent to his right. Gutz recognized one as being Griffith's. He was using his sweetest, most coaxing tone, something he rarely needed to pull out, with the way his men hung off his every word and rushed to do his bidding. Gutz trained his ears on the sound.

 

“Caska, please.”

"I won't do it. Absolutely not."

This was Caska's voice now. Gutz had never once known Caska to say no to Griffith. Not once. Not ever.

Normally, he wasn't one to eavesdrop, but this caught his attention. He stepped closer to the tent flap.

"Caska," Griffith was saying, "I know it would be uncomfortable for you. I understand. But we need this information, and no one could do a better job than you. In fact, no one else could do it at all. I'm sure of it."

Caska was silent, and Gutz imagined her scowl and pout. Griffith continued. "I'm placing my full trust in you, Caska. You're among my very best and my most loyal, and I believe in you. I do. I wouldn't ask you to do this if I didn't."

"There has to be another way."

"There isn't. I'm out of options, Caska. I've thought it over for days, and there's no other way. You know I'd take one of there was one."

More silence.

"Caska," said Griffith, ready to launch again into persuasion, but before he could get anywhere at all, Caska said, "No."

Gutz was shocked, really. It took a lot to shock him, but this was so out of character for the both of them -- Griffith practically on his knees begging and Caska outright refusing him -- that he couldn't begin to imagine what the circumstances must be.

"Gutz!"

Gutz turned. Judea was hurrying up to him, smoothing his hair back into its signature ponytail as he walked. "There you are. Pippin just came and woke me up. I guess Griffith wants to talk to all the captains." Behind him came Pippin himself, along with the rest of Griffith's top men.

Gutz looked again towards the tent. "I'm not sure they're ready for us yet," he said after a moment, because he really wasn't sure what was happening.

"'They?'" Rickert stepped around Judeau and seemed ready to rip right into Griffith's tent. This was something Gutz did... well, every single time he went to talk to Griffith, since Griffith had made it clear early on that he had nothing to hide from him, but Gutz had a strange gut reaction to stop him. Something was happening in there, and Gutz didn't know what it was. He was lunging forward to grab Rickert when the fabric covering the tent's opening swung out of the way and revealed a steaming angry Caska -- something no one wanted to deal with. Ever. Rickert gasped and lost his balance and landed at her feet, Gutz nearly following.

"Caska," Rickert squeaked, and Caska barely stopped to glower before making to storm off.

"Caska," said Griffith next, appearing behind her, "just let's at least discuss this with everyone."

Caska visibly bristled, and everyone but Griffith jerked back a little out of sheer habit. Gutz almost thought she was actually going to ignore him and leave, but instead she grit her teeth, clenched her fists, and turned to shove back past him.

Griffith gave them a helpless sort of look that seemed to say, "what am I going to do with her?" and ushered them inside.

"I'm going to make this short," he said to the gathered council, "since I've already spent the better part of the morning going over it once." This thinly veiled accusation would have normally set Caska on edge, but she was already so far gone, she didn't even react.

"I've been asked a favor by a high-ranking official -- " leave it to Griffith not to name names; he probably barely knew or cared who the customer was himself -- "who seems to have reason to believe that a friend of his, someone of similar rank, is a traitor to the state. Consorting with the enemy." Griffith crossed his arms, tapped one finger on one forearm. "He can't do anything about it until he has proof, especially since this man is close to him, but his friend is tight-lipped as anything. Our client can't gather the information he needs without giving himself away, and all that would be bad for his reputation."

"So," said Corkus, "he wants us to spy on the spy."

"Precisely," Griffith said, and he must have somehow sensed the oncoming complaints that such a milk run was below the Band of the Hawk because he held up a hand. "This is no small task," he asserts gravely. "Our client is of extremely high rank." He lets his eyes pass among each of them to underscore his point. "Extremely. And so is the accused. If this man really is a spy, it means very, very bad things for our country." He paused and then corrected, "for the country with which we have aligned ourselves," before continuing, "this must be done. And it must be done well."

Corkus snorted. "No problem at all. We sneak in, we sneak out. Easy."

"If it were that easy," Judeau pointed out, "Griffith wouldn't be making such a big deal out of it."

"Such a high-ranking and cautious man must have something that keeps people out," Corkus said.

"But he must also have a weakness," said Pippin, who delighted in the weaknesses of his fellow man.

Griffith nodded. "And this is where our predicament lies. His weakness happens to be something we members of the Band of the Hawk are rather lacking in."

Everyone waited while Griffith took a moment of dramatic pause.

"Women," he said.

Shit, thought Gutz, because the pieces clicked together right then and there.

Unfortunately, Corkus wasn't quite as quick. "What, so he likes a good fuck? Fine. We send in a whore. Easy."

Griffith's expression said that he wouldn't have chosen those precise words, but he nodded. "The issue is that the... the woman we choose has to be extremely strong, well trained. It is said that our target has guards stationed in every hall. The woman must be able to get in, search his residence silently and efficiently, obtain the needed information, and get out. But there's even more to it than that."

Everyone looked half-intrigued, half-annoyed. Griffith was long winded even when he was trying not to be.

"This isn't a simple act of espionage," says Griffith. "If our woman finds the target to be guilty, her task is to collect evidence against him and then to kill him. She must then be able to escape, killing as many as she can, making sure none are left who will be able to remember her face and report her identity. This act must not be traceable to us or to our client. And we can't afford to send in more than one. She must be able to do all of this alone."

There is a long pause as everyone mulls this over.

"We need a really kick-ass lady," says Corkus finally.

"And she needs to be beautiful," adds Rickert, "so he takes the bait."

More silence. And then, one by one, all eyes drifted to Caska.

"No," she said. "No. I won't do it."

Griffith sighed. "We don't have any other women," he says. "You're the only one who could pull this off."

"I wouldn't normally support something like this," says Judeau, "but he seems to be right."

"Really?" says Corkus. "I've never seen her cleaned up, but I'm not sure she has the... you know, the charm to seduce anyone." Murmurs both of agreement and doubt tumbled through the tent.

"I can seduce whoever the fuck I want to," Caska snaps.

"Prove it," someone said. Gutz wasn't paying attention anymore.

"Absolutely not! I am a warrior! A mercenary! A knight!"

"But Caska -- "

"I'm not some pretty slut you guys can flaunt around as you please! I won't do it!"

"But Caska, you're the only one who can do this. Surely you see that."

Griffith was silent throughout this exchange, watching thoughtfully, and Gutz had not said a word either. But as he stared towards his fearless leader, noticing the fluttering eyelashes that laid across his cheeks, the almost dainty way he rested his fingers on his mouth when he was in thought, Gutz had an idea. And maybe it wasn't a good idea, and it was almost certainly not one he should have brought up, but it slipped from his mouth anyway.

"She's not the only one that could do it."

The room went silent as each captain turned towards him and then followed his gaze.

"Oh," someone said softly.

Griffith stared out at them. He wasn't oblivious and he was certainly not an idiot, but he stared at them so blankly now that Gutz knew he was simply not allowing himself to think of what they were suggesting.

"What," he said, and it wasn't a question. It was more of a noise, or a statement, or maybe an exclamation.

No one said a thing for a long, long time.

"Griffith," said Judeau then, "you know I'd lay down my life for you."

"Yes, of course," said Griffith.

"And you know I'm loyal to you until the end, and only to you."

"I know," said Griffith, and he seemed uneasy now.

"And you know I'd never lie to you?"

"Judeau," said Griffith, and there was a warning in his tone.

"Griffith," said Judeau, his voice edged with buried mirth, "you would look absolutely ravishing in pearls."

***  
[Now I'm swimming in nothing;  
only blues are on my side.  
I've got nothing to hope for, honey; I've got nothing to hide,]

When parties were sent into the city, Gutz was almost never chosen to be a part of them. This was fine by him, and, in fact, preferable; he didn't like the crowds, didn't like the big buildings, didn't like the noise. He was, at heart, a loner.

This time, though, it was someone's bright idea to send him. He didn't know why; it was entirely unnecessary. Griffith should have been able to go all by himself and be perfectly fine. He was stronger, smarter, more skilled than any of the rest of them. He didn't need a bodyguard.

Now, though, Gutz thought he understood why he had been made to come along. Because Griffith was standing there in the middle of the dress shop and looking far more lost than Gutz had ever seen him -- again, the fearless leader knocked down a little. Griffith made it perfectly clear that Gutz was something of a favorite of his, and if he'd foreseen himself being this... well, this downright nervous about dress shopping, it made sense that he'd want Gutz with him.

Gutz remembered all the times Griffith had opened up to him. He always did it with his back turned to Gutz, and afterwards always said, "it's strange, I've never told this to anyone before. Only you."

Gutz stepped toward Griffith. He knew nothing about Griffith, but he felt a sudden, almost surprising desire to comfort him in some way. It was almost painful to see Griffith like this just because he was normally so... completely not like this at all.

Griffith glanced over at him and seemed to compose himself. He smiled at Gutz and seemed about to speak when Judeau, who had elected to come along of his own volition, and fancied himself something of a fashion expert, at least for the day, traipsed over with an armful of frills, which he does not hesitate to dump on Gutz.

"I was thinking something dramatic, to make you really stand out. I don't think I've ever seen you in red." He held out a long, almost slinky thing and Griffith visibly grimaced but accepted it, laying it over his arm.

"I'd rather something in blue," he mused, and Judeau grinned.

"I foresaw that, of course," he said proudly, and he yanked some poofy number from Gutz's pile. Gutz was barely able to keep everything from spilling to the floor as he did so. "Look, this one has this nice neckline, and the low sleeves'll show off your shoulders. You've got nice shoulders."

"I'm not sure you should say something like that to a fellow man," said Griffith, grinning teasingly, but there was something tense in his stance that gave away his discomfort.

"What about something with ruffles?" Rickert peaked his head from around a rack, one hand clasping at a pink skirt, and Griffith quickly said, "Maybe something simpler?" but it was too late. Judeau gave Rickert's pick an up-and-down and said, "I like that it laces in the back and it's flat in the front. Maybe we can pull in Griffith's waist a little." And the dress was added to the pile.

This continued for some time, all the while Griffith seeming to grow more and more numb to the process. It was unlike him to give up control, even in something as trivial as this, but he seemed willing to let Judeau and Rickert take the reins here. Finally, they shooed Griffith into a fitting room and closed the curtain with a swoosh. At one point, Judeau was called in to assist in tying some things and buttoning others, but Rickert remained shut out, despite constant attempts to peak around the curtain. Not long after that, Judeau was kicked out again, and stood with his arms crossed over his chest.

A long time passed. Gutz sat in silence, unwilling to interfere given his complete and obvious lack of knowledge, and was close to completely zoned out when Griffith, having rejected every dress, pulled the curtain aside to reveal himself almost completely naked but for the flimsy fabric of his undergarments. Around him lay piles and piles of fabric. Gutz was shocked out of his reverie by the sight, and even more so when Griffith turned to him and, smiling broadly and beautifully, said, "And what do you think, Gutz? Would you like to pick a dress to see your fearless leader in as well?"

Gutz stared at him and was silent for a moment. He had half a mind to decline, but he had a feeling Griffith would insist; there was a familiar gleam in his eye that said so. So he looked around, swiveling his head randomly to and fro, until something caught his eye.

"That one," he said, and pointed. Griffith turned and seemed half ready to head right across the store and get it himself, but Judeau hurriedly protested and kept him boxed into the fitting room with the curtain closed while Rickert got it. When it was brought closer, Gutz found himself rather pleased with his choice, much to his own surprise. It was the color that had caught his eye -- a pale shade of grey-blue that would suit Griffith well -- but he thought ... well, he thought that it would look very, very good on.

The dress was passed to Griffith behind the curtain, and after some rustling, Gutz heard, "Oh..." A soft sound, more an exhalation than a word. "I rather like this one."

Gutz blinked in surprise. Could it be that after rejecting a dozen, Griffith liked the one that Gutz, of all people, had chosen?

And then the curtain opened.

Griffith stood tall and proud as ever, even dressed as he was. The dress swooped nearly low enough to grace the floor, and the skirt was full, but not so round as some of the others. The fabric was as smooth as the impossibly pale, taut skin that was exposed: the top of Griffith's chest, his collarbones like an elegantly carved bow, his shoulders at once delicate and strong. His hair was pulled to one side and tucked behind the soft shells of his ears, revealing the entire length of his neck like a slender column. The sleeves of the dress opened in long slits down the sides to reveal peaks of Griffith's arms. 

Griffith couldn't have been more beautiful if he were carved from marble by some ancient master's hand.

And then, just as Gutz thought he was done, just as he was getting himself together and was about to close his mouth, (which he realized only now was hanging open,) Griffith turned.

His back. The dress came to a V so deep that it the eye could follow the whole length of Griffith's spine, right down to where the dress was gathered and clasped with a sash at Griffith's waist. His shoulder blades shifted beneath porcelain flesh as he moved, shifted his arms to take hold of the skirt and fan it out to either side. He entered into a deep curtsy, smooth and practiced like he did it every day, and looked over his shoulder at Gutz. His eyes were heavy-lidded, eyelashes glinting faintly around two incredible depths of blue.

"Am I pleasing to my lord?" he said, low and sweet and teasing, and Gutz knew he'd said it as a joke but it lit a fire in him because there was something in the way Griffith was looking at him that gave him ideas, something that made him think that Griffith was serious, that Griffith had said it for Gutz alone, and Gutz's eyes were glued now to his lips which he must have licked with his back turned because they shone wetly, and then down to his long, delicate hands which held his skirt, and his slender wrists, his back again, that deep V which pointed down, and Gutz thought for sure that this moment, this dizzying heat, would be his end.

"Wow," Judeau said as Griffith turned to face them again.

"Griffith, you look... you look amazing," Rickert breathed.

Gutz wasn't listening. He was staring at Griffith, who was staring back with those eyes that only drew Gutz closer, and he didn't realize he was there until he was, right in front of Griffith, still looking at him, staring down now at him. Griffith met his gaze evenly and did not look away.

Griffith put his hand on Gutz's chest.

It was a simple gesture, but to Gutz, it carried with it the world. He forgot that anyone was watching. There was only Griffith.

"Your heartbeat," said Griffith, and Gutz could hear it in his voice -- the same thing he himself was feeling. It was soft and full of breath. Gutz could feel his own heart beating hard against his ribs as though it thought it could get out, could hear his own pulse in his veins. Gutz said nothing. He'd never been attracted to anyone before -- not more than a quick twinge in his gut, a flutter in his chest. Griffith was doing things to him he'd never thought possible -- he had been for a long time -- and all he had to do to drive Gutz crazy was put on a dress.

"Are you feeling all right?" Griffith breathed, and Gutz swore, he swore to God Griffith's eyes were on his lips.

There was a moment of tense, desperate stillness, balanced precariously on the edge of... something.

"I'm fine," Gutz said, and his voice was weak.

Griffith nodded and stepped away. He turned toward the mirror, and his shoulder with its graceful slope looked for all the world exactly like a girl's fro mm behind. Gutz was entranced.

"I think I'll get this one," said Griffith, his voice suddenly bold and chipper and like it always was. "Judeau, I gave you the money. Fetch the clerk and see about buying it."

Juneau nodded, and Gutz was faintly aware that his silence and the way he shooed Rickert away with him meant that he surely knew of what had just transpired -- or at least knew that something had. Gutz wasn't aware himself of what any of this meant. He had reactions nearly so strong to Griffith every once in a while, and he'd had moments when he became certain that something would happen, but the feelings always faded, and the moments always passed. It seemed ridiculous even to Gutz that just seeing Griffith in a dress would captivate him so, and he felt a deep shame open in his stomach like a pit. He hated the way Griffith broke him apart. He hated himself for letting it happen.

Griffith was still twisting before the mirror, smoothing and rearranging the skirt and the sleeves of his dress. Gutz knew he was being watched in the mirror. He didn't know how to proceed. His chest felt cold where Griffith had rested his hand and then taken it away.

"Gutz," Griffith said, and Gutz felt compelled to meet his gaze in the glass. He seemed to chose his next words carefully, as though he wasn't sure how to put what he wanted to say. "Would you prefer it if I always looked like this? Does it really make such a difference to you?"

Gutz answered automatically. "No. It doesn't matter to me how you look."

"I see," said Griffith, and Gutz detected a hint of... frustration? disappointment? which affected him far more than he would have normally admitted, but he'd already admitted to himself that he was immensely affected by Griffith in a dress, so this realization seemed trivial.

Gutz wanted to ask Griffith what he wanted -- if he wanted Gutz to have an opinion, what he wanted that opinion to be -- when Rickert came to them again, shoving racks to make a path, and announced that Judeau needed the dress itself to make the final transaction. Griffith didn't look at Gutz again as he stepped into the fitting room and closed the curtain, and then he breezed by him on his way to the front of the store with the dress in his hands and still did not say a word. He moved like a dancer, swiveling his hips to fit between the racks. Gutz stayed back a moment longer and watched him go.

[Now I’m swimming in nothing; only blues are on my mind, and that ocean’s endless deep, and that ocean’s endless wide, but

Every time you look in my eyes  
It's like fire underwater, fire underwater.  
Every time you look in my eyes,  
It's like fire underwater, fire underwater;

I go down, down, down, down, down, down  
But I come up burning every time.]


End file.
